


as long as it’s with you

by the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Tower, Awkward Flirting, First Dates, First Kiss, Human Disaster Clint Barton, M/M, Oblivious Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28197723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: Clint didn’t know when thethingbetween him and Bucky became an actualthing. At some point the banter had evolved from a fun and engaging way to pass the time into a weirdly competitive game of flirting chicken.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 11
Kudos: 93
Collections: Winterhawk Wonderland - 2020 edition!





	as long as it’s with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheOnlyCeeCeeJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOnlyCeeCeeJ/gifts).



> Happy holidays TheOnlyCeeCeeJ!!! 
> 
> I really loved all of your prompts, and ended up going with #3: _Just a really cute first date. extra points for awkward moments, things breaking or dropping and just generally going wrong in the most adorable way_. Hope you enjoy!

Clint pressed his face against the granite countertop, relaxing into the cool stone against his cheek. Someone, possibly Bruce, set a plate of eggs and bacon next to his coffee mug and Clint mumbled something that might have been thanks.

The seemingly endless supply of food was one perk to spending a few days at Avengers tower. Steve and Natasha had come up with the idea of having specific teams ‘on call’ for different days of the week, like they were a group of firefighters instead of Iron Man, four super soldiers, a green rage monster, and Clint. Although Sam and Nat objected to being labeled super soldiers.

Clint had just managed to haul himself upright in his seat when Bucky and Steve walked in, both dressed in their running clothes. Steve grabbed two glasses of orange juice before vanishing off to wherever he went in the morning while Bucky lingered, making his coffee.

The way his T-shirt stretched over his shoulder blades made Clint gulp his own coffee faster. Clearly he hadn’t absorbed enough caffeine into his bloodstream to deal with Bucky Barnes.

Clint didn’t know when the _thing_ between him and Bucky became an actual _thing_. At some point the banter had evolved from a fun and engaging way to pass the time into a weirdly competitive game of flirting chicken.

Which was why Bucky felt comfortable enough to steal some of Clint’s breakfast.

“Get your own.” Clint smacked Bucky’s hand away from the bacon.

Somehow, a century-old assassin was capable of puppy eyes that rivaled Lucky’s. “Steve woke me up at 5 to do cardio and I didn’t have a good time.”

“I’ll show you a good time,” Clint grumbled, pulling his plate closer.

Bucky grinned slowly, “I dunno, I’ve been around a hundred years, it’d take something big to impress me.”

Natasha sighed, from where she’d materialized behind Clint. “No dick jokes at the breakfast table, I swear it’s like living in a frat house.” She piled the rest of the eggs and bacon onto a plate and set water to boil for tea.

Clint deflated a bit, then perked up when a new idea sparked. “Tonight, six o’clock. I’ll take you on the best date you’ve ever had. Will _ever_ have.”

“I’m holdin’ you to it.” Bucky winked, then took his coffee and the last of Clint’s bacon and vanished after Steve.

Clutching his mug, Clint was left feeling dazed. Nope. He’d definitely not had enough caffeine to deal with Bucky Barnes.

Natasha leaned against the counter next to him, plucking out her tea bag and setting it on Clint’s empty plate. “Did it finally happen?”

Clint shrugged and downed the rest of his coffee.

He had a date to plan.

***

Clint stood in front of the too-large closet in his suite and contemplated his limited selection of clothing. He had the fancy suit that Tony made him get, but that felt like overkill for a first date. His favorite tie, the purple one with a faint pattern of arrows and targets that Kate gave him, was nowhere to be found. It was probably back at the apartment.

Eventually, he settled on a button up that only had a small stain on one of the cuffs and a tie that must have been borrowed from someone else. Mainly because Clint couldn’t imagine himself buying something so _red_.

He was just futzing with the knot when the Avengers alarm started blaring.

Sighing, he threw the tie on the bed and started pulling out his gear. It was already five o’clock and the winter sun was just about to set. There was no way they were getting back in time for his dinner reservation.

Steve and Bucky were already in the ready room when Clint walked in.

“Fucking Doombots?” Bucky was saying, strapping his body armor into place. “Again?”

Clint groaned. “I’m gonna fly to Latveria and give Victor von Doom a piece of my mind.”

“Yeah, the bots sure do get annoying,” Steve said, looking around his locker one last time. 

But Bucky just scoffed. “Nah, I’m mad that they’re interrupting our date.”

“Date?” Steve asked, finally paying attention. “Oh, you guys finally-”

“Tomorrow same time?” Clint offered, shouldering his bow and leading the way out onto the rooftop landing pad.

“I’m free,” Bucky said, “barring any Avengers-related world saving, of course.”

He glared at Steve, who held up his hands placatingly. “It’s only a couple more days, then Nat’s team is on call.”

They devolved into childish bickering that Clint ignored in favor of navigating the quinjet away from the tower and over the streets of New York.

When they landed in the outskirts of Washington, D.C., Bucky followed Clint up a fire escape to his perch overlooking the assembled bots.

“Sorry we had to postpone our date,” Clint said, propping his second quiver under the rooftop ledge. “Killing robots isn’t exactly a good time.”

Bucky shrugged and looked at the sky. “It’s a beautiful night for it, at least.”

“Yeah,” Clint followed his gaze to the mostly full moon. “Good visibility.”

“Right,” Bucky shook his head, laughing a little. “Good visibility.”

Before Clint could ask what he meant, Bucky was bounding onto the next rooftop to intercept a Doombot.

It took several hours to reduce the Doombots to sparking piles of scrap metal, but Clint wouldn’t call it a particularly taxing fight. He stayed at his post and shot his final arrow only seconds before Steve gave the all clear through the coms.

“That was anticlimactic,” Clint said, slinging his bow over his shoulder and starting to retrieve his arrows from the scattered Doombot remnants.

Climbing onto the rickety fire escape, he cursed at his frozen fingers. His favorite pair of gloves had gotten alien-slimed during their last fight and he hadn’t remembered to replace them.

Clint gripped at the ladder one-handed and reached for another Doombot caught on a window ledge. The arrow stuck through the thing’s metal eye socket was especially stubborn. He was shifting his weight to get better leverage when he felt ice under his boots.

“Fuck,” he managed, before he was slipping off the ladder toward the street below.

Someone, it sounded like Bucky, was yelling through the coms.

***

“I can’t believe I let you go out on your own and you _slip on ice_.”

Clint groaned, immediately shielding his eyes from the bright light. He was back at the tower, in a familiar hospital bed. Natasha leaned over to hand him a glass of water.

“I’m reassigning you to my team,” she continued, as if he hadn’t made a sound. “Steve can have Tony or Sam, I don’t need two people who can fly.”

“Should be one spy, one super soldier, one air support,” Clint said, voice rough.

Natasha let out a slow breath. “I’m telling Stark you called him air support.”

Clint shrugged. Tony didn’t scare him at all, but telling Steve to split up with Bucky was just asking for a fight. Bruce was lucky he and the big guy were still working things out. He got to avoid most of the inter-team arguments.

“What’s the diagnosis,” Clint asked, taking stock of his fingers and toes.

“Doc said broken wrist, broken collarbone, cracked ribs, and a mild concussion,” Natasha rattled off.

“Oh.” Clint looked up at the ceiling. No wonder his head hurt. “Is that all?”

Natasha scoffed. “You fell off a ladder. During clean up.”

“I need new gloves,” Clint said, like that explained everything.

“You’re impossible.” Natasha smoothed his hair back from his forehead, sounding fond.

A light knock on the doorframe made them both look up.

“Hawkeye! How are you feeling?” Dr. Larson asked, walking over to check the machines beeping quietly beside the bed.

Clint tried to sit up, only for his ribs to protest. He collapsed back against his pillows.

“Peachy,” he said, already knowing where this conversation was heading.

Dr. Larson scribbled some notes down onto her clipboard and turned to him. “Agent Romanoff probably filled you in on the worst of it, but you’re going to have to stay overnight for observation.”

“But Doc-”

“No buts, Clint.” Dr. Larson squeezed at the tips of his fingers sticking out of his cast. “Circulation good?”

Clint sighed, wiggling his fingers in response. “Fine.”

“Now, you know the concussion protocol better than I do,” she looked at him sternly. “For your own sake, please follow it.”

That meant no screen time. Clint resigned himself to a day and night of counting ceiling tiles.

“And I’ve enlisted help to make sure you behave.” She looked back toward the door. “Agent Barnes?”

Bucky walked through the door, freshly showered with his hair still falling damp around his shoulders. He was carrying what looked like a children’s chapter book.

“Thanks, Dr. Larson,” he said, dropping down into the chair Natasha had vacated. “I’ll make sure he stays put.”

“Thank _you_ , Agent. I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours.”

They were quiet until her footsteps faded down the hallway.

“I’m not _that_ bad,” Clint said, disgruntled.

“Of course not,” Bucky said smiling indulgently. “That’s why Steve, Kate, Natalia _and_ the Doc asked me to sit on you.”

“Lies and slander.”

Bucky laughed, then held up the book. “Natalia said reading helps with concussions. Or at least boredom.”

“Gonna read to me, Barnes?” Clint asked, a little off balance over how vulnerable he felt.

Flipping to the first page, Bucky nodded. “Can’t have you getting bored and starting mischief.”

“Mischief? You sound like my grandfather.” If his grandfather were still alive and had ever spoken to him.

“Shh, I’m reading,” Bucky said. “And I’m much older than your grandfather.”

Clint snorted, then clutched at his ribs. “Okay. I’m listening.”

Bucky read several chapters, then stopped for a lunch that Clint rushed through, eager to get back to the story and the sound of Bucky’s voice.

But after the second time Dr. Larson stopped by, Clint could feel his eyelids drooping.

“Maybe we can try the date thing again tomorrow, I’m not gonna make it to dinner,” Clint said, struggling to keep his eyes open.

Bucky sighed. “It’s okay Clint. I’m not going anywhere.”

And again, Clint drifted off to the sound of Bucky’s voice.

***

The third time _had_ to be the charm.

At least that was what Clint kept telling himself as he struggled to get his shirt on with his cast and sling. He attempted to do up the buttons one-handed, but eventually gave it up as a lost cause.

Luckily, Natasha was around.

“I can’t believe you’re still going to all this trouble.” She pulled his shirt tails straight and fixed his collar. “You two could go get a beer in that nasty bar down the street from your apartment and Barnes would still think you were the greatest thing to come out of the twenty-first century.”

“But I promised I’d show him a good time.” Clint pulled at where the sling was rubbing against his neck. “He’s like a hundred years old. I gotta impress him.”

Natasha sighed. “You’re presentable,” she said, then shooed him out of her room.

An hour later, Clint was sitting stiffly in one of the fanciest restaurants near his apartment. Bucky looked unaffected, like always, even though he had wine soaking into the shoulder of his dress shirt. Clint fiddled with his tie – he forgot to ask Natasha for help tying it, so the knot somehow ended up backward – as the waiter repeatedly apologized for spilling wine on the Winter Soldier.

It was almost a relief when there was a thud from the floor above and water started dripping from the ceiling.

“Let… let me go check on that,” the waiter stammered.

Bucky got to his feet, dropping several bills onto the table. “You ready to go?”

Clint nodded, feeling dejected as the ceiling continued to leak above their heads. He waved at the manager on the way out, then shrugged into his coat.

Reaching out, Bucky snagged his uninjured hand and laced their fingers together. “Let’s take the long way back.”

So they meandered through the park a couple blocks over. Bucky was smiling, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be than out walking with Clint in the chilly evening. It eased some of Clint’s trepidation, but he still expected Bucky to leave at the earliest opportunity.

At least Lucky was excited to see them home early. Kate must have dropped him off when Clint said he’d be home tonight.

“Hey, pizza dog,” Clint said, patting him with his good hand while struggling out of his dress shoes.

Across the room Bucky was on the landline, chatting with the delivery guy at Clint’s usual pizza place. He hung up and stripped the rest of the way out of his wine-stained shirt, leaving him in his sleeveless undershirt.

Clint swallowed hard and sat down, kicking off his left shoe. Confused, Lucky tried to crawl into his lap.

“Down boy.” Clint reached for the laces on his remaining shoe. “Let me get these things off.”

Bucky laughed quietly, watching Lucky lick the side of Clint’s face as he finally got his right shoe off. He collapsed onto the creaky old couch and motioned for Clint to join him.

Clint sat gingerly on his usual cushion. His ribs were not pleased with him. Bucky scrolled through the recently watched list on Netflix until he found the baking show they’d been watching last weekend.

They made it through introductions before Clint started tugging at the stupid red tie. Before he could strangle himself, Bucky reached out and gently unknotted it, then started undoing shirt buttons until Clint felt like he could breathe again.

“Sorry I didn’t actually show you a good time,” Clint said, as they watched the bakers get their assignments.

Bucky frowned, pausing the TV. “Of course I had a good time. I was with you.”

Clint blinked, not sure how to take that statement. “Are we done playing flirting chicken?”

“I have no idea what you’re on about,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “That was just plain-old flirting.”

“You really wanna date me?” Clint asked, incredulous.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s what the flirting means.”

“Even with the disaster date?” Their hair was still damp from the busted pipe and Bucky’s shirt was probably ruined.

Smiling, Bucky went to start the show again. “You could technically call this the third date.”

“What?” Clint grabbed the remote, pausing the TV again.

“Well, first we had a romantic walk in the moonlight, then we had lunch and spent the day together, and now we’re doing dinner and maybe some TV.”

Clint blinked. Then blinked again. When it was put that way...

“You know what else happens on the third date?” he asked, grin starting to spread across his face.

Bucky took the remote back. “After the third date. You still owe me pizza and at least two baking challenges. And you shouldn’t be stressin’ those ribs.”

Clint scooted closer, leaning into Bucky side. Behind him, Lucky wormed his way onto Clint’s abandoned cushion and the couch groaned ominously.

“Can I at least get a kiss?”

Bucky kissed him on the forehead and flipped the TV back on.

Clint whined about it and they ended up almost missing the delivery guy’s knock because they were busy making out like teenagers.

Bucky answered the door looking ruffled, strands of hair falling out of his low bun and his slacks hopelessly creased. He tipped the guy and wished him a good night, turning back with two pizzas and two boxes of breadsticks.

Clint had never been so into someone.

“Pizza and TV, that’s all it takes to impress you?” he asked, still not believing his luck.

Bucky set the stack of boxes on the coffee table, dropping back into his seat beside Clint.

“As long as it’s with you.”


End file.
